


steel to my trembling lips

by Pomfry



Category: Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Damian stays with the League AU, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Jon has a reason to be though, M/M, Not by choice though he loses his tenth birthday match, Ra's is a terrible person, Running Away, Slow Burn, Talia is a decent mom, Underage Drinking, World Wide Hunt, dancing in the kitchen, kind of, overprotective Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: Damian smiles at him, fingers catching on his sleeve and eyes slowly roaming Tokyo, and Jon grins until his cheeks hurt and his eyes close, and Damian laughs, bright and happy, and Jon laughs with him, breathless and relieved, and he can't believe that they're here, can't believe that they haven't been caught yet, but he'll take this moment, this second, this single minute of reprieve from running, and Damian squints his eyes, the light playing in the swimming green, and Jon's breath catches in his throat at the sight.Because Damian is beautiful and strange, and Jon wouldn't have him any other way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The updates will most likely be slow for this, but I really like the idea behind it.
> 
> Also, Damian's been slowly breaking for years now in this, so when the events below happen, he just...breaks.
> 
> Title is a lyric from Runnin by Adam Lambert, and it was either this or "the damage is damning me down, down, down" and i thought this looked better!

When Damian is ten years old, he's put through one of the most grueling birthdays in his life.

He tells himself that this is the year that he learns who his father is, the year that he finally gets to meet him, to get to know the man who Mother speaks of so fondly.

Damian tells himself many things.

All of them are wrong.

They're wrong because he doesn't defeat his mother in their battle that day.

He doesn't get to know who his father is, doesn't even get to know his name.

Damian fails on his tenth birthday because he hesitates on a blow he knows will hurt, and Mother takes that split second to knock him to the ground.

Damian told himself that this year he would triumph.

He was wrong.

 

\--

 

Talia will forever remember the moment her son snapped.

On his eleventh birthday, her father had him kill the maid he'd grown close to over the last year, his only friend and the only one he could talk to, in a way to prove that Damian had not grown soft.

Damian had looked at Adena, reluctance in every motion, and Adena had looked back at him, a faint smile on her face as she trembled in place.

In the end, Damian had killed her, and as he watched the life bleed out of her eyes and blood drip from his beloved sword to the ground, Damian had fallen to his knees.

Talia knows that moment was when her son snapped.

“Mama?”

Talia winces and turns to look at Damian.

Her child stares back at her, sketchpad precariously balanced on his knee as his eyes start to unfocus.

He only ever calls her Mama when it's a bad day.

“Yes, my darling?” Talia says, and Damian blinks.

“Why is it when the birds call, the bat follows?” He asks, fiddling with his pencil.

“What?” Talia replies, because what else can she say?

Her son doesn't speak with literal meanings anymore; they're all hypothetical, all a puzzle that the listener has to unscramble before he loses interest in the topic.

Damian blinks again, slow and steady, and says it again. “Why is it when the birds call, the bat follows?”

Talia smiles weakly. “Because the bat cares about them.”

“Can I be a bird that calls?” Damian questions, eyes holding a laser focus that he rarely has anymore.

“Of course. What kind of bird would you like to be?” Talia's voice is shaky, because she knows where this is going, and who he's talking about.

“Can I be a robin?”

Damian waves his sketchbook in her direction, unwilling to get out of bed, but Talia can see what he drew.

Bright splashes of color interrupt the monotony of black and white, and it's three birds singing with a large bat heading towards them, but-

But there's a smaller bird, one made of green and red, trying to catch the bat’s attention, but he's drowned out by the chorus of the other birds.

Talia's legs start to give, and she locks them into place.

“Yes, you can.” She assures him, and Damian frowns.

“But why won't the bat come?” Damian asks, honestly confused, and Talia takes the door handle in hand.

“I'm afraid I don't know. But I have to go. Goodbye, Damian.” She says, and Damian barely looks up from his drawing as he waves.

Talia leaves, and slides down the wall, devastation in her heart and ice in her veins as she closes her eyes.

Damian was once made of sharp edges that cut, but now he is dulled, made of soft and perplexing twists and turns because he is not like he was when he was ten.

Damian is no longer the boy he was, no longer able to become the heir and no longer allowed to train because he could hurt both himself and the one he's training with, but he is still Damian, still the son she loves, and she can't help but wish that he beat her that day three years ago.

Maybe then he wouldn't be like this-a child nobody would accept beyond her, and Talia bares her teeth as she stands.

Damian is like this now, and he is her responsibility.

Her father wants him, wants him because he goes berserk in battle, because he doesn't care if he gets injured and will just keep _fighting_ until he's forced to stop, and-

And Talia can't let him gets his hands on Damian.

Her son will _die_ if that happens.

So she sets her jaw and marches on.

Her name is Talia al Ghul, she is one of the most dangerous people in the world, and she has someone to _protect._

 _Perhaps,_ she thinks with a dangerous curl to her lips, _it is time for a change in leadership._

 

\--

 

 _Why is it that every time I team up with the Bats, I get into these kind of fights,_ Jon wonders sourly, and has to twist to avoid a blade aimed for his stomach.

Dick laughs as he jumps high and grabs onto the rafters, swinging so that he kicks the sniper off. “Because you love us!” He shouts, and drops back down, already grabbing another's shoulders and using his momentum to throw the guy to the ground below.

“Whatever!” Jon yells back, and punches the floor.

It gives slightly, and throws his opponents off balance just enough for him to speed through them and knock them out.

“Superboy, I'm serious-” Dick starts, and Jon's ears pick up the way his heartbeat elevates.

He turns on his heel just in time to see a kryptonite shard plunge into his leg and the ninja disappear.

Jon crumbles and falls to his knees, gasping for breath as the radiation works it's way into his system.

“God _damnit.”_ Dick bites out as he lands in front of him, yanking the shard out. “You're gonna be okay.” 

“Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that.” A voice says, and the last thing Jon sees is Dick falling on his side, eyes dazed.

 

\--

 

Jon wakes up to a cell and two misty green eyes staring at him through the bars.

“Mother, the little monster is awake.” The teenager says, and a woman walks up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me, my dear.” She says, and he smiles absently, already drifting away.

Jon watches as he goes, a little figure in white and black, before the woman snaps her fingers, and forces Jon's attention on her.

“My name is Talia al Ghul.” She says, tall and imposing, and Jon gapes as he remembers.

“As in, Talia al Ghul, the daughter of Ra's al Ghul?” Jon asks weakly, and she nods, arms crossing with a tilt to her mouth like she ate a lemon at the name of her father.

Jon blinks and turns his head towards where the teenager had gone. “So that was…”

“My son.” She agrees, and Jon shakes his head.

“Okay, so what do you want with me?”

Talia frowns. “I want nothing from you. It is my father that wished for you. He wants to draw Superman and Batman in so that he can take them out of commission.”

Jon shudders at the implications, and Talia smiles, eyes cold.

“My son seems to have taken an interest in you.” She says, and Jon shrugs.

“Give it time, it'll pass. Everyone's interested in Kryptonians.” Jon tells her, and Talia nods. 

“So they do.” She turns to leave and Jon's left alone.

 

\--

 

The next time Jon sees Talia’s son, he's been let out of his cell with the condition of having a collar with blue kryptonite weaved into it's making around his neck.

Jon's just glad to have some sun.

But the whole compound is in a uproar, looking for “Master Damian”, and Jon's swept along in the panic.

“Search for him, he likes high places.” A maid orders him, and scurries away to join her comrades.

Jon blinks. “Alright?”

So he goes from room to room, looking high and low, complaining about how much easier this would be if he had his powers, when he finds him on top of a bookshelf.

“Damian?” He asks, and the boy brightens, smiling excitedly as he jumps down.

“Little Monster!” Damian shouts, and bounces on his heels.

“Why do you call me little monster?” Jon can't help but ask, and Damian frowns.

“Because. Monsters are big and strong and you are small.” Damian explains as though _Jon's_ the idiot.

“O...kay then.” Jon says slowly, gently pushing him towards the door.

A knife almost takes his hand off moment later.

“Do not touch me.” Damian scolds, brow furrowed, and Jon laughs nervously as he backs away, cursing his lack of invulnerability.

Damian perches on top of a desk, nimble like a bird, and stares as Jon eases himself into a chair from across the room.

“Y'know, people are going crazy looking for you.” Jon points out, and Damian huffs and shakes his head.

“Their minds are tiny, nothing new is let in. I tell him I don't need silver blades or disgusting water, but they don't listen.” He says angrily, stabbing the no doubt expensive wood beneath him.

“They say I can't play with Mama, or climb the walls, or leave like I used to.” Damian continues as he fiddles with another knife. “They are stupid and Mama listens.”

Jon takes a moment to wonder just what happened to Damian to make him think like this and-

The door bursts open, and a man in a white doctor's coat rushes in, wrinkles of worry on his face.

“Damian, what did we say about running?” He asks, and Damian backs away, heading for the bookshelf again.

“You do not see, you follow old man's rules. I do not need sugar pills, I am fine.” Damian answers, pulling out another knife.

“Damian, we said no weapons.” The man lectures, and Damian snarls incoherently as he throws it at his head.

“No!” He bellows, nails scraping against the leather of the books as he tries to level himself up without looking away.

Jon can't stand this anymore; clearly something is wrong with Damian, and this doctor is only making it worse.

“Stop it.” Jon orders, standing.

“Damian, if you need to take pills, then take the pills.” Jon says, pointing a finger at him, them turning it over to the man. “And you need to calm the fuck down. You're making him upset, which is the exact opposite of what you're supposed to be doing, so I'll bring him there.”

“Little Monster, I don't need the sugar pills.” Damian tells him, and Jon groans, because this boy looks older than him and is acting like fucking five year old.

“Fine, but you should take whatever else.”

“I don't need the water either.” Damian says stubbornly.

Jon closes his eyes and sighs.

 

\--

 

Damian’s fascinated by the little monster Mother has brought.

He so pale, so much lighter than anyone Damian knows except for some old dragons that love to annoy Mother.

Damian drags himself out of bed every morning just to see the little monster, and before the pale pale monster, he'd only managed to do that one time a week.

But today, he just-can't.

Today, the world is fractured into pieces, little shards that reflect the way he was, the way that he is now, and everything in between.

He's terrified, huddled under the covers as he is, because he can see the red, _red_ blood of his friend, the way her head tumbled to the floor, short hair falling in her dead dead eyes, and he just-

He wants his mother, wants the way she calms him down until the memories fade, until he starts to talk the way he does now, with creatures and lies unveiled, and she still doesn't touch him that much at all.

But Mama is far away from here, from him, and none of the servants will come near him when he's like this, horrified and afraid, and he wishes that they would, no matter the risk of having their bones shattered, because he needs a distraction, needs something to pull his mind away from-

The door opens, and Little Monster steps in with his drawing papers, looking nervous, and Damian squeezes his eyes shut, because the storm outside lit up the room for just a moment, and Damian could see blood on Little Monster's face with Damian's sword in his chest, and that scares Damian.

“Damian?” Little Monster whispers, and his feet are heavy on the ground, shaking the Earth as he walks, and Damian can feel the vibrations in his bones.

“Damian.” Little Monster repeats, and Damian finally looks up, and he's right in front of him, blue eyes blazing like fire and skin like the china Mama likes to use.

Damian looks down, hands curling into fists against the soft fabric of his sheets, staring at the wall and blinks when his Red Child is there, wings like a bat spread wide and a knife in his heart, and Damian shrieks, scrambling away from those golden fairy eyes that stare at him in betrayal, and bumps against Little Monster, who stares at him and Damian finally breaks down, sobs catching in his throat and hurting like that clear water his cruel Grandfather makes him drink and-

Little Monster wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Damian buries his face in his chest and the collar that Mama makes him wear clicks against Damian's forehead, and Little Monster's shirt is getting wet, and Damian feels a shiver of fear because what if he gets angry, what if he pushes him away like the others and leaves Damian alone?

But no, no, Little Monster is murmuring words in his ear, is holding him close, and he doesn't care if Damian's crying or his shirt is getting wet, and Damian _can't-_

He slams a hand into Little Monster's stomach, and his breath hitches as another wave of tears takes over, and he's left a mess, a barely held together soul with only the embrace of the enemy of his family to keep him together.

Adena gazes at him, wrists red and dress stained, and her head is in her hands, a horrified shout trapped in her never moving mouth, and Damian hides his face again.

The storm passes, and Little Monster is still there.

 

\--

 

Jon wakes up to Damian asleep, little huffs escaping his lips, and remembers the way the servants had avoided his room, the way that he broke, and tightens his grip around Damian and decides, right then and there, that Damian won't be staying here any longer, and neither will Jon.

He sets his jaw and reaches for the knife stuck in the dresser, determined to get the collar off. 

The minute he does, they're going to disappear, and nobody is going to find them.

 _Not even Batman,_ Jon thinks and grins savagely as a click echoes ominously, a warning of things to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gives a fond smile and sprinkles salt and popcorns seasoning into the bag and tossing it over to Damian, who catches it and throws it back with a smirk that makes Jon laugh.
> 
> “Yeah, yeah, be cocky. We’ll see who wins.” He yells, and Damian sticks his tongue out in retaliation.
> 
> Really, this boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a fucking plan for this, what do ya know!
> 
> My notes are three pages long and most of it are bullet points, haha.
> 
> Also, I use a lot of the word "smiles" and I am not ashamed.

Jon doesn't know why they end up in Metropolis, but they did, and he's grateful for it right now .

They need to get their bearings, Jon needs to pack clothes and food, and-

“Damian!”

Damian looks up innocently, but the permanent marker in his hand says he's anything but.

“What, Little Monster?” He asks, and Jon groans, running a hand through his hair.

That's the other thing. He needs to get Damian to not draw on walls.

“Damian, you can't just sketch wherever.” He says with an exasperated smile as he takes the marker.

Damian let's him, blinking and looking at him with confusion.

“Why not?” He asks, wandering into the living room.

“Because my mom will flip and will get us thrown out of places.” Jon answers, and heads to the kitchen to get the spare money Mom hides.

_ Sorry,  _ he thinks as he snatches it and stuffs it inside his bag.

Damian throws himself on the couch, a book in hand. “Mother never minded.”

“Yeah, well, my mom would.” Jon laughs, grabbing the bread so he can make a sandwich.

Damian's silent for a moment. “Little Monster's mother is odd.”

Jon can't help it; he throws his head back and  _ cackles. _

“What's making you fill the air?” Damian calls, glancing up from his book.

“I just think it's funny that you're calling my mom odd.” Jon chuckles, and smears some more jelly.

Damian frowns, turning a page. “Well, she is. She’s as odd as those in white furs, and Old Dragons that pester Mother.”

Jon laughs again, setting a sandwich aside and starting on another one. “Whatever. You allergic to anything?”

Damian sits up, staring at the PB and J. “What is that?” He says, walking into the kitchen and poking it.

“It’s a peanut butter and jelly?” Jon answers, raising an eyebrow as Damian pokes it again, lowering himself so he’s eye level with it.

“What does it do?”

“Nothing. You eat it.”

Damian nods in understanding, still peering at it.

Jon leans back. “You want it?”

Damian’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. “I can have it?”

Jon scowls and sets the butter knife aside. “Yeah.” He says, nearly a growl. Why Damian thinks that he’s not allowed to have food unless told he can is something Jon is not willing to wonder about.

_ Fucking League of Assassins,  _ he snarls mentally, and aggressively spreads peanut butter on a slice of bread.

Damian grabs it, taking a bite the second he can, and Jon watches as his eyes narrow at the taste before widening again. He makes a noise and takes another bite, strawberry jelly smearing on his face.

Jon snickers at the way Damian tries to lick it off and grabs a paper towel, wetting it in the sink and wiping it off.

Damian gapes at him, the white bread in his hands gradually being crushed by his grip.

Jon rolls his eyes and gets back to making his own.

They stay like that for a bit, both slowly eating their sandwiches, and when they’re finished, Damian heads back into the living room to get his book and Jon cleans up, grabbing some granola bars, applesauce, pop tarts, and beef jerky.

Jon sighs, looking at the pitiful stash of food they have, and knows that it won’t last them for long.

He slams the refrigerator shut and turns around to beam at his...kidnappee? Is that the right term?

Either way-

“Want to go shopping?”

 

\--

 

“Little Monster, what are these?” Damian says excitably, shoving colorful plastic in Jon’s face.

Jon places two fingers on Damian’s forehead and gently pushes him back. “I can’t tell you if I can’t see what it is.” He replies, amusement in his voice, and Damian pouts at him.

“What are these?” Damian repeats, and Jon glances what he has in his hand.

“Instant Ramen. That’s a good deal, put it in the cart.”

Damian drops it and darts forward again. Jon follows sedately, content to just let Damian do what he wants, and thinks that Damian’s like a hyper puppy.

A old woman smiles at him as Damian chatters in his ear, holding out a bag of dried strawberries, and Jon smiles back, grabbing the bag from Damian and letting him run off again.

“Is your brother always like this?” She asks, and Jon starts, blinking at her as she hums.

“Uh, yeah?” He replies, and he says it as though it’s a question, because  _ why is she saying that Damian is his brother. _

She giggles at him. “He’s lively, I’ll give him that."

Jon grins weakly and Damian holds out package full of cans of pineapple juice. Jon barely glances at it, already saying yes, and Damian bounces away.

“Yeah…” Jon says awkwardly, moving ahead quickly.

Damian shows up, and Jon tells him, “Last item. We have to pay now.”

Damian frowns, but doesn’t scamper elsewhere, so Jon counts it as a win.

Luckily, they have enough money for it, so Jon takes their bags and heads towards Walmart.

“Little Monster, where are we going?” Damian shouts above the noise of Metropolis, and Jon grabs his hand, unwilling to let him disappear into the mob of people.

“To get you some clothes.” Jon answers, focusing on making sure they don’t get lost, because they very well could be, especially in this crowd.

It’s happened to him before, muscle memory be damned.

“Why?”

“Because what you’re wearing is too recognizable and the only thing you have since my things won’t fit you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m taller.”

“Why?"

When they do get to Walmart, Jon’s ready to tear his hair out.

“Here,” He says, shoving a pile of clothes at Damian. “Try these on.”

Damian blinks at him, and starts taking off his shirt.

Jon grabs his hands frantically, giving a nervous laugh to a couple passing by, because  _ hello, you cannot get naked in public! _

“Damian, you can’t just change here.” He tells him in a low voice, wrapping a hand around his wrist and leading him to the changing rooms. “Do it in here.”

Damian gives him a confused look. “Why? At the large home, Mother did not mind.”

Jon sighs, giving him a small smile. “Well, you can’t do it here. I don’t care, but other people do, so can you please change in there?”

_ Please, I don’t want to be banned,  _ he adds silently, because while it would be  _ hilarious  _ to post online, this is a place he could easily get things.

Damian stares at the doors, an apprehensive expression on his face, and Jon resists the urge to poke him on the forehead and joke about being a scaredy cat.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. It’s just a room that you can use to try on clothes to make sure that they fit.” Jon softly says again, and Damian straightens his shoulders, nods once, and marches in.

 

\--

 

It’s a disaster.

The clothes Jon had picked out are a couple sizes too big, and Damian's practically swimming in the shirts.

Jon covers his face in his hands and laughs helplessly as Damian glowers at his pants.

“Little Monster, these are like when I wore my father’s black.” Damian spits, and that just makes Jon laugh harder.

“Damian, what are you?” He asks, still laughing, and Damian eyes him as though he’s an idiot.

“I am half bat, half demon.” He replies, and only gets more perplexed when Jon practically collapses on the floor, almost in tears.

 

\--

 

Two hours later, they step out of Walmart with five more bags and a new backpack filled with food.

Jon stretches his arms above his head and makes sure that Damian doesn’t drift too far away; god knows what could happen to him in Metropolis. It isn’t Gotham, but it damn sure is dark.

“Let’s go home. Mom shouldn’t be back yet from her assignment, and I’m pretty sure Dad’s on a mission.” Jon yawns, scratching at his shoulder absently.

Damian nods and hums, grabbing his hand and swinging it between them.

“How do you know that Monster Father is not there?”

“Because I know him, and I know that he hates coming home to an empty house, so he’s almost certainly off on a mission or looking for me.” Jon gives Damian a slant smile, a twinge of previous knowledge in his voice, and Damian glares at the ground.

“Monster Father sounds like a lonely man on his own.” He grumbles, and Jon snorts, giving their hands a new rhythm.

Up and down, up and down.

Ta ta, one two,  _ jazz hands,  _ put on a good smile for the camera so that the world doesn’t become frantic.

A complete lie is what it is, and everyone in the business knows it.

But the only thing that matters is that the public doesn’t.

“He’s a social butterfly, he’s almost never alone.” Jon pauses and looks down, brow furrowing. “Being alone lets him think about the past, and Dad’s never liked that.”

It’s the truth. Dad’s always went silent when Jon asked questions about missions, about heroes no longer around, always closed his eyes and clenched his fists and Jon knew, even when he was five, that though Dad was strong, he  _ knew- _

He knew that Dad couldn’t save everyone.

Dad doesn’t like to talk about the past.

And Jon respects that.

Damian walks around him, his bag bouncing against his back with every step. “Monster Father needs to face it, lest it consume him whole, and then no one will be able to help him.” He says, and it’s contemplative, a wondering quality to his voice that Damian can never help, and Jon wouldn’t want him to, because it’s a part of him.

Jon huffs, letting his hand go over his head and land at his side as Damian completes his circle. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. But everyone’s made mistakes, and Dad’s mistakes tend to lead to very bad things for everyone.”

“Still. The Truth King would not like him to continue running.” Damian murmurs, and Jon shrugs.

“The Truth King would have to fight Superman, and I don’t think that he’s ready to do that.”

Damian scoffs. “The Truth King is neither man nor woman, or even human. The Truth King is different for everyone, so Monster Father should be scared. The Truth King is one that one does not fight, merely submit to.”

“Who’s The Truth King?”

“Someone everyone knows.”

 

\--

 

“So,” Jon starts as he tears the tags out of the clothing and stuffing them in the washer. “What do you want to do?”

Damian sits down on the couch and grabs the remote. “What does this do?”

Jon’s head pokes up from the door of the washing machine. “It lets you watch stuff on the TV.”

Damian turns his head from the remote to the television on the wall.

“Little Monster. What do you want to watch?”

Jon adds the fabric softener and Tide Pod, turns it on, and floats over to the living room.

“That depends,” He says, settling beside Damian. “On if you want to watch a movie, or a show.”

Damian blinks at him, eyes wide and misty, and Jon groans, heading over to the case full of movies.

“Disney?” He asks, and Damian appears at his shoulder, squinting at the covers. The only thing keeping Jon from jumping is the fact that he’s dealt with Bats before and he heard his heartbeat.

Sometimes, he thanks the fact that he’s half Kryptonian despite it bringing him problems he could live without.

Damian is no such problem, he knows, and as he glances over at him, a delighted light in his eyes at the titles, Jon feels, deep in his heart, that this is one person he’ll never give up on.

“Little Monster, Little Monster, let’s watch that one!” Damian shouts, and points to Moana.

Jon flinches a bit at the volume and takes the case. “Okay.”

As Damian bounces on the cushions and goes on and on about things that only he sees, Jon puts the disc in and makes popcorn, the pops in the microwave making Damian laugh as he taps his foot to them.

Jon gives a fond smile and sprinkles salt and popcorns seasoning into the bag and tossing it over to Damian, who catches it and throws it back with a smirk that makes Jon laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, be cocky. We’ll see who wins.” He yells, and Damian sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Really, this boy.

Jon shakes his head and pours the popcorn into a bowl, flopping onto the couch beside Damian with a small grunt.

“Okay! Let’s watch Moana!”

 

\--

 

They end up in the same bed hours later, lying on each other’s sides and face to face, just talking, about meaningless things, about past friends and teachings, about where they’re heading next.

Eventually, even the mighty Superboy tires and the whimsical assassin fights to keep his eyes open.

Damian’s eyes almost glow in the dark, and Jon smiles at him, reaching out to close them.

“Sleep.” He says, and shuts his eyes.

Damian’s hand finds his a moment before he falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon pulls Damian into a hug, buries his face in black hair as he tells himself that Damian won’t have wounds like that again, not while Jon’s around, not while Jon is here to make sure that it _doesn’t_ happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some... Heavy stuff happens here

Damian blinks his eyes open, and has to duck under the covers when the burning ball of rage in the cloudy sky tries to blind him.

“No.” He says stubbornly, because he is tired, and he wants to sleep. So it’s perfectly reasonable to fall back into that comforting black filled with falseness, but Little Monster won’t let him.

“Damian,” Little Monster laughs as he sits on the bed, and Damian curls up tighter with a scowl. “You have to get up, we have things to do.”

“No.” Damian says again, and yelps when the blankets are torn away and he’s thrown over a shoulder. “Little Monster, put me down!”

“Nope!” Little Monster replies cheerfully, and Damian kicks his feet and digs his elbows into his back in retaliation.

“Little Monster, let me sleep!”

“Nah.”

Damian bites his ear in frustration.

Little Monster jerks in surprise before chuckling. “That’s not going to work, Damian. I’m half Kryptonian, the only things that can hurt me are magic, Kryptonite, and red sun radiation.”

Damian huffs and slams his head into his lower back. He only ends up with a ache.

“I told you, not going to work.”

Damian hides his pout in Little Monster’s loose shirt as they walk into the kitchen and Little Monster sets him down in a chair. Damian leans forward until his chin is resting on the white-as-snow counter as he watches his friend flitter around. “What are you doing?”

Little Monster doesn’t glance back as he gets little red things out of the large silver box. “I’m making strawberry waffles.”

“What are waffles?” Damian asks, testing the word in his mouth, and he doesn’t miss the way Little Monster tenses, muscles drawing tight. Damian finds himself flinching away, visions of his Grandfather’s muscles doing the same thing before the green water was shoved down his throat and the long black tail was struck against his skin coming unbidden, and he gently curls his fingers into his elbows, phantom pain brushing up against him.

Little Monster’s there in an instant, wrapping his arms around Damian as the red things lay forgotten on a wooden board. “I’m not mad at you.” Little Monster assures, holding on as Damian just stares at his lap, broken and dirty nails digging into his thighs.

_Mama wouldn’t like that._

The thought is hysterical, and Damian shudders, flattening his hands against the counter, and simply looks at them in despair. Mama would be furious; she wants him clean at all times, and the idea of upsetting her is enough to make Damian let out a sound of sadness and fear. Mama can be frightening, even to Damian, and he thinks it’s because of the way she _pushed_ him all the time in the Before, until he could barely walk, and still she made him go on.

_Mama wouldn’t like this._

Another truth, one that’s as clear as the night sky before the fog that’s now infecting the world, and Damian let’s out another whine, because Mama would kill Little Monster for taking Damian away, and Damian doesn’t want that, Little Monster is his _friend-_

“Damian!” Thin hands that betray the strength hidden inside them cradle his face, and Damian meets Little Monster’s blue eyes that almost spark with power inherited from Monster Father, the man who ignores the past.

“Damian, it’s fine. Talia won’t come and get you.” Little Monster tells him, soothing as a stream, but Damian shoves him back, a ball of manic desperation in his throat, because he needs to make Little Monster _understand._

“Mama will _kill you,_ Little Monster! Your head will be on the ground with red around you and your eyes will be dim and you won’t _be here anymore!”_ Damian shouts, and he can see every escape route around him as though it’s in scarlet, and he lunges for the closest one.

Little Monster catches him around the waist, dragging him to the couch, and Damian struggles the whole way, and his nails are dirty and his skin isn’t clean, and, and-

“Damian. She won’t kill me.” Little Monster says firmly as he struggles to keep Damian in his lap.

“Yes, she will! Mama is ruthless and she doesn’t like _filthy things-”_

Damian bites at his fingers mid-sentence, trying to _get the dirt off_ before Mama comes and says _it’s time to come home_ with Little Monster laying behind her, with those horrible, horrible blank eyes.

“Damian, I said _stop!”_ Little Monster bellows, and suddenly Damian’s on his back, Little Monster above him, and his hands are around his wrists, and Damian bares his teeth.

“Little Monster, I need to be _clean.”_

Little Monster falters, and squeezes Damian’s wrists, hopelessness infecting his gaze, and Damian disregards the hurt that attacks his heart, that makes his eyes close. Nobody is sure of what to do with Damian, but he thought that Little Monster would never have this sort of forlorn quality to him.  He thought that Little Monster would accept him for who he is.

As if he could read his thoughts, Little Monster let’s go and lays on top of him, steady and confident in a way that makes Damian open his eyes. “We’ll get you clean. I’ll take you to the nail salon today, and while I make breakfast, you go take a shower.” He smiles ruefully. “And we’re leaving today anyways, so when Talia comes here, she won’t find us, so I won’t die.”

Damian nods shakily, trembling under the weight of Little Monster, and he doesn’t even have to ask for where the bathing room is when they stand. Little Monster just take him straight to it with clothes Damian had picked out yesterday with a fluffy towel, and shows him how to work the knobs before leaving to finish making the waffles.

Damian stands in dirty, dirty clothing that he yanks off as soon as the door closes, and he squints at the mirror him in the reflective still lake above the frost colored sink. He truly is foul, specks of dust and crumbs in his hair, and Damian glared viciously at himself and steps into the shower, turning the water onto scalding.

The water burns, leaves red patches on Damian’s brown skin, but Damian sits right in the spray and lets it destroy the slimy feeling Damian has festering in his mind.

 _Mother won’t be happy with me,_ he thinks, leaning back until his head hits the wall as fear darts its way up his spine. The water starts to cool so he turns the knob more.

 _Why did Little Monster take me,_ he wonders as his skin starts to turn soft and wrinkly at his fingertips. His companion had no reason to take him, after all, and Damian just doesn’t understand why he’s here and not in his room with needles being forced into his arms and being washed until his skin feels like it’s seared off everything that used to make him up.

_Do I-do I want to stay here, with Little Monster?_

It’s a tough question, one that Damian uneasily entertains, certain that Mother will come knocking down the door with a snarl on her lips that makes her appear less like a woman and more like a angered wild animal at the wonder.

 _It’s...it’s nice, being with him,_ Damian decides, steam rising from the water. Little Monster doesn’t force him to take the medicine that makes him angry and tired. Little Monster seems like he wants Damian to be happy, and that’s...that’s not normal, not for Damian. The puppets in the coats want him alive and to be like everyone else, Mother wants him to stay in the massive house and stay alive, Grandfather wants to give him a sword and let him loose, regardless of whether or not Damian dies as a result, but-

But this is the first time anyone has wanted Damian to be Damian, wanted him to be happy of his own brand of happiness, who laughs at his jokes and wants him to be full of joy because they love him the way he is.

Damian-

Damian thinks he could get used to that, maybe.

 _Okay,_ he thinks, nodding his head with droplets like the shape of tears falling from the tips of his hair. _I’m going to stay with Little Monster._

A knock at the door makes him freeze, apprehension making him become as taut as a string, because what if that’s Mother, what if she found them already-

No, its only Little Monster, Damian realizes as Little Monster tells him that breakfast is ready and that he’s scheduled an appointment so that Damian can get more clean.

Damian smiles as he grabs the shampoo.

_Yes, I can stay here._

 

\--

 

Jon grabs the sink, attempting not to break it under his anger as Damian turns on the shower.

 _How dare they,_ he growls mentally, and slams a fist onto the marble. It cracks, spiderwebs crawling around his hand. Damian isn’t a thing to dress up, isn’t a thing to wash until he shines like they want him to. He isn’t a _doll._

Jon grabs the fridge with more force than necessary to grab the milk, and the strong metals crumbles under his rage, conforms to the shape of his hand, and Jon doesn’t even notice as he slams the plastic carton down.

“Damian is a fucking person, _not_ something that they can play doctor with!” He grabs the knife and cuts the strawberries, knuckles white as he grinds his teeth.

“Damian is just Damian.” He whispers, righteous fury gone as he throws the knife into the sink. It lands with a clatter that isn’t satisfying in the least.

“He doesn’t...He’s fine the way he is.” Jon adds the milk to the batter and stirs in the flour, feet finally touching the floor as he folds in the cut strawberries.

Damian isn’t fine in the least, Jon knows that, but Damian needs to be accepted above all else. He isn’t like those serial killers he’s seen, and he isn’t like those psychopaths in Arkham either. Damian is harmless, really-well, towards civilians he might not be, but to _Jon_ he is, and that’s what matters.

He turns on the waffle maker, lets it heat up, and makes one waffle. And another, and another.

Jon’s not paying attention, but he’s made this so many times that it’s practically muscle memory to do it as he listens to Damian breathe in the shower.

He just…

He just needs to make sure Damian isn’t panicking again.

Jon makes thirty waffles in all, and he sets them aside as he gets vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup out. He grabs the bananas, cuts them up a bit too, and decides that, yeah, breakfast is done.

He sets the used dishes into the sink next to the knife, and goes to tell Damian that breakfast is ready.

Damian huffs in acknowledgement, knowing that Jon can hear him, and Jon heads back into the kitchen. He’s not even two steps away from the door when Damian pulls it open and launches himself at Jon’s back, legs wrapping around his waist and arms around his neck, and Jon stumbles at the sudden weight.

“Are you even dressed?” He asks, and Damian nods.

“Properly?”

Again, a nod.

“So if I set you down, I will see that your pants are buttoned, your shirt is on straight, and your socks are on?” Jon says, voice skeptical like Mom’s when she knows that someone is lying, and Damian makes a guilty noise against Jon’s throat.

“No…”

Jon snickers, adjusting his hold on his willing kidnappee, and walks into the kitchen. “I’ll get your plate started while you fix yourself.”

Damian grumbles out a _fine,_ and Jon grabs a plate, setting a waffle on it. He turns around and-

Damian’s shirt was apparently on inside out, because he’s taking it off, and Jon zeros in on the scars, white from age.

The plate shatters.

Damian stares as Jon laughs forcibly, catching the waffle with another plate, putting it down on the island in front of Damian, and his arms are shaking with tension, because _Damian has scars._

Jon sucks in a harsh breath, reaching out to trace one. It’s long, and curves from the side and to his hip, and Jon’s sure that it continues beyond the barrier of clothes.

Damian’s looking at him weirdly, shirt held limply in his hands, as Jon places a large hand on his chest, and he covers up five scars.

Jon pulls Damian into a hug, buries his face in black hair as he tells himself that Damian won’t have wounds like that again, not while Jon’s around, not while Jon is here to make sure that it _doesn’t_ happen again.

“Little Monster?” Damian says, voice muffled by Jon’s neck, and Jon places a hand on his head, shushing him softly.

“Damian, who hurt you?” He asks, and his tone is of tightly controlled anger, a wild beast on a leash, and Damian shifts as he hears it.

“....Everyone.”

Jon tightens his arms around him, and he doesn’t ever want to let go, not until everyone who hurt Damian is gone and can’t ever hurt him again, but life doesn’t work like that and he knows it, so he let’s Damian go and goes back to the rest of the waffles, determined to put an end to the League of Shadows if it’s the last thing he does.

If this is how they treat Damian, then they deserve to die in a fire, and Jon will gladly set it aflame.

He’ll even laugh as he does it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waffles make everything better, fight me on this.
> 
> Also, waffles covered in ice cream, chocolate syrup and fruits is delicious, I will never back away from this statement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach the nail salon a minute before Damian’s appointment, and Jon sits down with his phone in the lobby area, one eye and ear on Damian and the others on whatever he clicked on. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Batman and Bruce Wayne, a love affair doomed to repeat it’s tragic end again and again?_
> 
>  
> 
> Jon slowly takes this in, and starts to wheeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii.
> 
> I watched my baby cousin Danni last night and most of today and let me tell you, she can scream like no other.
> 
> Also, Jon's protectiveness has climbed up another peg, if that was even possible, and he thinks something that will become his famous last words.

Breakfast is a success, Jon thinks with a smile as Damian rambles on, a fork in one hand and the other waving madly in the air.

“Mother was very scary, almost as scary as the green water when the old and foolish dragon grabbed me by the arm. He was not allowed to touch me, not at all, so when Mother drew her silver, the dragon bowed down and begged like a mouse!” Damian exclaims, laughing at the end, and Jon laughs with him, snatching a strawberry off his plate.

“I got a bruise from this claws, and Mother was very angry about that. Grandfather tried to tell her to stop, but Mother didn’t! She grabbed the dragon by his gray hair and _yanked!_ He went flying, and Mother sent me from the room.

“What happened next?” Jon asks, feeling satisfaction curl in his chest at the thought of the person who hurt his friend get hurt in return.

Confusion flitters across Damian’s face and he looks down at his waffles. “I do not know. I never saw him again.”

 _Probably dead,_ Jon thinks, and surprisingly doesn’t feel too bad about it. If he put a hand on Damian, then he deserved everything he got. Startling, certainly, because he’s Superman’s son-that loss of life should weigh on his conscious, should bother him, should tug at his mind and say _shouldn’t have happened, that is wrong,_ but-

But Damian. That old man put his hands on Damian, had _hurt_ him so that he had bruises, and Jon can’t really muster the anger that should come.

“How old were you, when this happened?” Jon asks, and he’s focused on Damian, food completely forgotten as Damian frowns, chocolate sauce on his lip.

“I was eleven.” Damian decides, and pops a banana piece into his mouth.

Now, _there’s_ that anger, that rage that makes Jon hot enough to smoke and cold enough to freeze.

Damian was _eleven._

Jon had to be at least eight when that happened, and the chair creaks beneath his fingers as he grips the edge, and, _oh,_ is that old man lucky Talia took care of him.

Jon doubts he would’ve been able to stand up to a Super who _wants_ to hurt you and doesn’t care what he breaks.

“Little Monster? Your chair is going to break in two.” Damian says, innocent and ever happy as he points towards the cracks near his seat cushion.

Jon sucks in a breath, holds it, and lets it go. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You’re fury is going to get you into trouble one day,” Damian tells him, wisdom dripping from his words, and Jon smiles at him.

“I know. Black Canary has already told me to get it under control,” Jon sighs and stands to put his plate in the sink. “It’s hard though. I got my mother’s temper.”

Damian chews and thinks, misty green narrowing at the wall. “Mother often told me that anger is a poison and an healer, and that we just have to choose what we did with it.”

“Anger got Batman through a lot of things that should’ve killed him,” Jon agrees, and turns the water on. “Thing is, it also got him into a lot of shit too. Double edged sword.”

Damian looks at him weirdly. “What use is a double edged sword?”

Jon laughs. “Exactly. Now only if Batman got that message.”

Bruce Wayne is a man with regrets and anger issues a mile wide, but he’s a good man. Jon just wishes that he’d learn to actually calm the fuck down for once, because Jon’s sick of watching his dad break down in worry.

“....Blackest King needs to learn from Little Monster,” Damian says as he bends backward to land on his hands, earnest and naive, Jon snorts, snatching up Damian’s plate.

“There’s no way Batman would ever take lessons from me. I’m just a teenager and he’s the goddamn Batman.”

Damian sighs and tilts to the side so that he does a cartwheel and ends up on his feet. “Blackest King is foolish.”

“Have to agree with you on that.” Jon hums, and finishes up rinsing off the plates, turning around the second he does. “Okay, so I just need to put on some shoes, and-”

Jon stops, staring blankly as Damian blinks at him. “Why are you hanging from the ceiling.”

Damian grins and pokes his nose. Jon scrunches up his face and gently bats the offending finger aside, but this time with a small smile. “The red goes to my head and makes me dizzy,” Damian tells him, and Jon quirks an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yes. Mother and the coat ghosts never let me do this, and Little Monster wouldn’t mind.” An uneasy look passes, makes Damian pull himself up a bit as he plays with his too-big shirt. “...Does Little Monster mind?”

Jon frowns and pats his cheek, something inside snarling at the thought of Damian being afraid of him, of being frightened of breaking the rules, and Jon has to fight to keep it inside. “No, I don’t mind. We’re going to be leaving soon, so just come down when I call for you, okay?”

Damian brightens, swinging himself up and jumping to the next rafter, and Jon shakes his head in fondness, heading into the living room for his shoes.

“What I don’t understand is why anyone would want to put the fear of God into Damian. He’s harmless, basically, so why-”

Jon stops, takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it from his mouth, and forces his hands to unclench. If he keeps up that line of thought he’s going to destroy something, so he tugs on his shoes, grabs the money and two a jacket and a sweatshirt, and goes to stand by the door.

“Damian, we’re leaving! Don’t wanna be late to your appointment!” Jon yells, and yanks out his keys, already knowing it won’t take more than thirty seconds for Damian to reappear.

Sure enough, not ten seconds later, Damian lands in front of him with barely a sound, and Jon tosses him the sweatshirt while locking the door.

Yeah, okay, it’s his old red one with Robin’s symbol over it’s heart, but it should fit fine, and that’s what matters.

“Little Monster,” Damian’s voice is perplexed, so Jon finishes turning the key and faces his fellow fugitive. “Little Monster, can I keep this?”

Damian’s fingers are desperately getting tangled in the worn fabric, and Damian himself sounds both sad and shocked with pure _want_ mixed in, so Jon smiles, nods, and pulls it over Damian's head without much fanfare.

“If you want to,” Jon tells him softly, hands lingering on the ends of the sweatshirt, and Damian blinks at him, eyes suddenly glassy, and Jon doesn’t even try to resist the urge to pull him into a hug.

“Just ask, and I’ll give it to you, okay?” He murmurs into Damian’s hair, and Damian nods, arms coming up to return the embrace, and they stay like that for a few minutes, because Jon isn’t willing to let go just yet, and Damian doesn’t want to either.

Jon thinks of the way Damian’s room barely had anything in it except drawings and the occasional picture, and tightens his hold. 

Yeah. Anything Damian wants, Jon will _get._

Damian starts to shift, so Jon reluctantly lets him go and starts down the hallway towards the elevator. “Y'know,” Jon muses, and Damian glances over at him, fingers running over the stylised _R._ “If you ever wanted to meet your dad, we could go to him.”

Damian immediately shakes his head. “No. Father does not know I am here, and telling him now will get him very very angry.”

“Has your dad ever met you?”

“No. Mother never told him about me.”

Silence reigns, and when the doors slide open, and Jon sighs, and says, “That’s fucked up.”

“I know who he is,” Damian offers in condolence, and Jon takes him by the hand as they walk out the front door.

“Nah, it’s fine. You don’t need to tell me if you aren’t ready.” Jon promises, and Damian’s steps falter a little at that.

“...Okay.”

Damian's voice is quiet, and if it wasn’t for his super hearing, Jon wouldn’t have heard him.

But Jon _did,_ and the subtle amazement in that one word is enough to make Jon’s grudge against the League of Assassins grow by ten.

“Yeah. Ya don’t have to tell me anything.”

Jon wonders if they forced him to tell them things, things he’d rather keep hidden, if they’d forced him to give up his secrets, and purses his lips at the implications.

Well, fuck them and their mothers twice the fuck over; Jon has Damian now, and they can’t do that anymore.

Jon’s muscles relax, and they dive back into the crowd.

 

\--

 

They reach the nail salon a minute before Damian’s appointment, and Jon sits down with his phone in the lobby area, one eye and ear on Damian and the others on whatever he clicked on. 

_Batman and Bruce Wayne, a love affair doomed to repeat it’s tragic end again and again?_

Jon slowly takes this in, and starts to wheeze.

“Oh. My. God.” He breathes as he scrolls down.

_As many of you are aware, the love story of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, philanthropist, and father, and Batman is one that’s gripped Gotham since the very beginning, when Wayne was merely a playboy with no self restraint towards anyone he found attractive and when Batman was only a whisper on the streets that sometimes ruined other’s lives with no warning._

_We can only assume Wayne’s lack of restraint lead to their relationship, but when questioned, Wayne only smiles and says, “There’s more to the story than meets the eye.”_

Jon snorts. 

 _More like I_ **_am_ ** _Batman, you idiots,_ Jon thinks, and raises his eyes to check on Damian. They’re soaking his feet now, and Damian’s chatting delightedly with the person in front of him, and for the first time Jon registers the outfit Damian had picked out, and blinks.

Worn, dark green high tops - his from a year ago that he grew out of in a few months time after a growth spurt - reside by the seat, maroon skinny jeans pulled up his knees and the hints of a bright yellow shirt underneath the Robin sweatshirt, and Jon blinks again.

It...it looks like a Robin themed outfit.

Which is _odd,_ considering the fact that Robin hasn’t been around for a few years now, not since Tim moved on from the role. Jon hasn’t seen many other people that into Robin these days, because of the fact Robin hasn’t been active.

Jon tilts his head, squinting at his kidnappee, who happens to glance up the second Jon does so, and beams, waving madly as he pauses in his story.

Jon smiles, waves back, and looks back down at his screen. The once hilarious article no longer holds his interest, so Jon bookmarks it and looks up Robin on google images.

What he gets is old photos of Tim from around three years ago, and that whole We Are Robin movement that went on for a few months before Jason crushed it.

That, and the birds.

Jon huffs and goes towards archive of our own, settling in to read a thing about Tony Stark and the consequences of Civil War.

That, in particular, had pissed Jon off so bad that he nearly got rid of his Captain America stuff, because _Jon_ is a superhero, and Steve Rogers has no excuse to act the way he did. 

Everyone was an idiot in that movie.

Feeling his temper rise, Jon switches over to YouTube, contently watching The SCIENCE Of on Game Theorists, and stays like that for a bit, occasionally laughing and flicking his eyes up to make sure Damian’s okay.

Damian’s _always_ okay, but Jon just likes to be sure that he is.

In fact, Damian’s downright ecstatic as his nails are pampered, and the Jon’s lips lift up before he can stop them, because Damian looks so _happy,_ so genuinely full of joy that he’s practically a miniature sun that Jon’s small smile turns into a grin, and Damian tells the man working on his toes, “The tooth fairy is a hoax, but there _are_ little people.”

Jon hums and returns to his phone, lulled into a haze of happiness that makes it simple to take it easy for a little bit, and these people are professionals, and they won’t harm a client.

Or so Jon believes until he picks up on the way Damian’s breath hitches. 

Jon shoots to his feet, that same something growling in his chest as he glares bloody murder at the guy clipping at Damian’s nails.

 _The fuck are you doing_ is on the tip of this tongue, but before Jon can let it out, he sees the way Damian giggles and wriggles his toes as the guy apologises for going a little too far.

“It’s okay,” Damian laughs and flicks the water at the guy.

“I deserved that.” 

Jon sits back down, cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment.

Is he already so protective that he’d attack a civilian?

Jon thinks on it, smoothly going from the Tracer video to the Dark Souls video, and come to the conclusion of yes.

Again, should horrify him, but.

Jon’s already run away with him. What more could happen other than Talia going after them or Jon attacking a civilian?

Not much.

So Jon turns his attention towards the video, and their morning is calm.

The afternoon, will probably be anything but, Jon knows, but for now he’ll savor the peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be perfectly honest it's a school night and I wrote this in like an hour and a half, no breaks, so uh.
> 
> Yeah.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Monster’s grin widens, and Damian narrows his eyes at him, suspicious to a point.
> 
> That grin promises trouble in the near future.
> 
> Damian is not looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty minutes after midnight on a school night and I am still posting this.
> 
> Dedication, people.

Damian has never felt better in his  _ life. _

His nails are practically sparkling like fairy lights and there’s exactly zero dirt on them, and the nice man even painted them red like his jacket.

Such a nice man-Damian hopes his sister gets into that special school in a few months.

Little Monster huffs and grabs his wrist gently, and Damian pouts at him, because he already said he wouldn’t wander off!

Little Monster doesn’t care.

Damian climbs onto his back in retaliation, and refuses to get off, no matter the eyes that go to them and stay, because Little Monster needs to learn to let him go when he wants to be let go.

“Y’know, you’re just making my job of keeping you with me that much easier, right?” Little Monster asks, and Damian gasps in disbelief and scrambles down, sprinting ahead the moment his feet touch the ground.

Little Monster grabs an arm around his waist before he gets too far- _ damn those long arms- _ and tugs Damian to his chest with a grin.

“Seriously, that much easier.”

Damian sticks his tongue out and licks Little Monster’s arm.

Little Monster tries to wipe the spit off on Damian, but Damian ducks under and climbs onto his back again.

“You are not getting me dirty,” Damian shouts to the not-natural clouds as he manages to sit on Little Monster’s shoulders, and he waves a fist at the sky like he’s seen in old books before.

They seemed courageous and  _ not  _ silly. Damian wants to be like that.

Little Monster shakes his head and grabs Damian’s ankles to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and says, “You hungry?”

Damian leans back until he’s hanging only by the grip on his ankles and stares hard at the concrete and feet, and thinks on it as blood rushes to his head.

Little Monster only shifts his hands so that it’s better suited to the new position and waits.

“Yes,” Damian decides as it gets hard to think and his face grows uncomfortably warm. “I am hungry. My stomach is screaming for substance, LIttle Monster, I must feed it.”

Little Monster laughs and Damian claws his way back up so that he can sit again. “Okay, whatever you say,” He says fondly, and Damian notices just how high up he is.

“Little Monster, how tall are you?” He asks curiously, because Damian is around five foot five in United States terms, and he knows that he’s far above the average.

“Um…around six foot and a half. Why?”

Damian squints at the crowds, putting a straight hand on his brow like he’s seen the guards do when the sun is in their eyes.

They are not very courageous, but they are skilled, so Damian had decided the first time he saw it that he would do it too.

Little Monster jostled him a bit. “What’s the matter?"

Damian leans forward and grins at his kidnapper. “I am taller than anyone in this city,” He tells Little Monster proudly.

Little Monster puts a finger on his forehead and pushes him up so that they can continue walking without Little Monster running into anyone. “You never know Damian,” Little Monster drawls as he looks around for a good eating place, “Someone else might be taller than, what, seven feet?   


Damian kicks his chest. “No,” He says stubbornly, “I am the tallest.”

Little Monster only laughs and falls silent.

Damian hates him.

 

\--

 

They walk and walk and eventually Damian get’s bored.

He decides to slip forward and fall.

Little Monster catches him, one arm under his knee and the other curled around his back, and looks at him with disapproval.

“What,” Damian complains as Little Monster strides into a door with Damian still held in his arms, and the bell jingled merrily above their heads as the woman behind the counter falters mid word of her standard greeting at the sight of them.

“You know what,” Little Monster says, and Damian only snuggles closer to his chest.

He does know, but in the  _ dry-sun-home  _ he would have been punished, or at least have his sketchbook taken again is he did that, so he doesn’t quite know if what he did is acceptable here or not.

It’s confusing, this outside world. There’s no set  _ rules,  _ only unsaid expectations, and while Damian’s always been good at figuring those out, what is acceptable here is different from what was acceptable in the desert, and so Damian’s at a lose.

Damian shivers and buries his face into Little Monster’s shoulder more.

Sometimes he wonders why he let Little Monster drag him from his room.

Sometimes, he wonders why he didn’t just grab Adena and run when he was eleven and she twelve.

Damian’s made a lot of mistakes, but he doesn’t think that Little Monster is one.

He manages to drift off into a light slumber as they wait, and Little Monster never let’s go, not even when he sits, so Damian ends up curled up in his lap.

He doesn’t mind all that much.

“Hey, Damian.” Little Monster nudges him with a smile as Damian opens his eyes sleepily. “They’re taking us to our seats, you gotta wake up.”

Damian scowls and rolls onto the floor, landing in a crouch before he falls flat on his face.

Little Monster laughs and rises, and Damian automatically grabs his sleeve as they follow their…what is the name of her profession again?

Waiter?

Serveress?

Damian frowns in frustration. It’s on the tip of his tongue, he’s read it before-

“Server!” Damian shouts suddenly with a snap of his fingers, and the server jumps as Little Monster only shrugs apologetically as Damian beams and starts humming.

There, that was the word!

Such a bother when that happens.

“Here’s your seats, and your menus. Your server will be right with you,” The woman says with fake cheer, and scurries off, leaving Damian with an amused Little Monster, which Damian suspects never bodes well.

“So, did you forget the name?” Little Monster asks, and Damian gives a puff of frustrated air as he looks over the meals.

He knew it.

“No,” Damian denies firmly as he flicks his eyes up from the enchiladas.

Little Monster’s grin widens, and Damian narrows his eyes at him, suspicious to a point.

That grin promises trouble in the near future.

Damian is not looking forward to it.

“Really,” Little Monster says, and Damian scowls at him as their server starts to walk up to them. “You just yelled server out of nowhere?”

“Yes,” Damian replies, and Little Monster opens his lying mouth again right when their server finally made it.

For once, Damian is glad of being interrupted; that just saved him from an embarrassing conversation.

Damian decides that he likes servers.

“Hello, I will be your server for today.” The man says quickly as he sets down a basket of chips and two little saucers of...red. Damian doesn’t know what it is. Little Monster leans back in his chair. “Have you decided what you will be getting to drink?”

“Yeah, can I please get a Coke?” Little Monster asks politely, and Damian glances down at the list of drinks.

There’s nothing familiar in the drinks besides tea and water, so Damian gets the tea, and ignores the look of excitement that crosses Little Monster’s face when he says it.

It’s just tea. It’s not like they could mess it up.

Right?

Damian squints at the kitchen in the back as Little Monster asks for a bowl of cheese.

The man nods and runs off, returning barely two minutes later with a bowl of something white and two large drinks in red cups.

Weird.

Damian eyes both his tea and the white thing with due caution born from Grandfather sneaking the green water into anything he eats, and Little Monster rolls his eyes, dips a chip into the white and shoves the chip into his mouth.

Damian is fully prepared to spit it out, but then he actually tastes it, and it’s good.

Damian grabs two more chips and puts them inside the white thing, then eats them.

Little Monster laughs as Damian shoves a whole chip nearly covered in the white sauce into his mouth and promptly chokes on a too big piece.

Damian shoots him a dirty look; Little Monster truly takes joy from his suffering.

Evidence just happened, nobody can refute it.

Little Monster grins, shakes his head, and gestures towards the tea. Damian takes it without a word and takes a big sip.

He then starts to gag because-

“What did they do to  _ tea?” _

Little Monster only starts howling.

Damian  _ hates him. _

“You don’t hate me,” Little Monster wheezes, and Damian hits the top of his head, nevermind the fact that he has to almost stand to do it.

“Yes, I do.” Damian assures Little Monster, and he only smirks.

“Nah. You love me.” Little Monster answers, smug and Damian wants to erase that smugness from his face.

“No, I despise you.” Damian corrects immediately, and Little Monster scoffs.

“Don’t believe you.”

“You should, Little Monster, listen to the truth.” Damian tells him, and he really should, because if he doesn't, it'll result in death. That much Damian knows for certain.

“It’s all lies.”

_ Apparently Little Monster doesn't care about death, _ Damian thinks irritably, because Little Monster is his only friend, and he'd really rather not lose him so soon after getting him.

“Um, excuse me?”

“What?” Damian says in unison with Little Monster, and the server flinches back.

“Have you decided what you will be eating?” He asks, and Damian flicks a eye over the menu and nods as Little Monster does the same.

“Yep!”

 

\--

 

“I swear, Dick was fucking  _ flailing,”  _ Jon laughs, and Damian starts to giggle as he digs into his enchilada.

_ This is fun,  _ Jon thinks and snorts when Damian steals his coke again.

“Mother liked to have me jump from helicopters when I was little,” Damian tells him, and Jon clenches his fists carefully  and taps his foot.

“Really?” He manages, and Damian nods happily.

“Yeah! Mother made me do a lot of birthday challenges back then. It wasn’t fun, but it was challenging, and if I beat her in a spar at the end then I could meet Father.”

Jon’s eyes have become a flinty steel blue, he knows, and he snatches a chip to dip it in the salsa. “Did you ever beat her?”

Damian shakes his head and slaps Jon’s wrist when he tries to grab his fork for the bit of enchilada on it. “You have your own,” He scolds, and Jon merely smiles innocently and waves for him to continue.

“No, I never beat her. I almost did when I was ten, but I hesitated. The year after that-”

Damian swallows, and Jon can hear the way his heartbeat speeds up.

“The year after that Grandfather designed my birthday challenge. It didn’t end well. I haven’t had once since.”

Jon can guess that the eleventh birthday is when Damian snapped.

It makes his blood boil, the way that they so casually played with his mental state, and Jon did fucking  _ research.  _ Forcing a child to start to kill or fight early on in their development causes them to become suicidal and not very stable, in all honesty.

Damian doesn’t seem to have much regard for his life.

Jon breathes in and out, once, twice, and takes Damian’s fork with a smile that’s only a little strained and shows a bit more teeth than socially acceptable in normal circumstances.

But normal circumstances have sped past Jon’s life since he was an infant, so he merely shrugs it off and continues to trade stories with Damian.

His eyes catch the man standing in the corner, and forces himself to relax.

No need to tell him that Jon knows he’s there.

If he does come closer, then Jon will leave as soon as he can, food be damned.

He’s not about to risk Damian’s safety and happiness on something so little as food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G'night I need sleep so that I don't fall asleep in second period.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian’s humming.
> 
> Jon tilts his head and listens carefully.
> 
> “Is that Lose Control? When did he learn that song,” Jon wonders, and cuts away hair on his face.
> 
> He has a sneaking suspicion that this is horribly domestic and that Jason would be disappointed in him.
> 
> It’s not a good feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been listening to Lose Control by Hedley nonstop while writing this so uh. Go listen to it.
> 
> Also the other song referenced is Don't Stop I Foster the People (The Fat Rat Remix).
> 
> I've also been listening to it a lot.

Talia’s _furious._

“My son has been _missing for two days_ and _you never thought to tell me,”_ she shouts, and the doctors in front of her shrink back in fright.

“Mistress Talia-” One starts, and Talia whirls around, holding a dagger to his throat as tears burn her eyes.

What’s happening to her son right now? Is Ra’s forcing Lazarus Pit water into his veins, down his throat in an attempt to make him reveal Talia’s plans? Is he being tortured?

Does Bruce know that he exists?

Talia’s heart stops at the thought.

No. Nonononono, no. That cannot happen. Superheros die all the time, and Talia _knows_ her son, knows Bruce, and knows that there is simply no way for Damian not to become a hero while with his father.

She started this agenda to _protect_ Damian, to make sure that he never gets caught up with the world his parents live in, to make sure that he _lives,_ that he doesn’t die before he’s gray and aging.

She slumps over, dagger clattering against the floor as she breathes through her terror and rage, and her subordinates land silently around her.

“Find my son. Bring him home safe,” She says slowly, and she rises to her full height, green eyes burning with hatred. “And _kill_ whoever has him.”

They disappear in a blur of black, and Talia heads to her quarters to get dressed.

This is her _son,_ her precious baby boy, she _will not_ be staying behind.

She waves away her handmaidens and straps on her sword, tucking her feet into worn boots that she’s worn for many missions, and her mind is clouded with worry.

She glances at the picture of the Robins held in a frame, and clenches her fist.

If he _is_ with Bruce, then previous relationships be damned, Damian’s _parentage_ be damned, she’ll slit his throat and anyone else who is her way.

This is her son.

There’s no such thing as overkill.

 

\--

 

Jon is _livid._

That fucker in the corner has been watching them, watching _Damian_ nonstop for at least half an hour now, and even Damian has become uncomfortable.

Damn it, why can’t they have a simple meal without something happening?

Jon sighs and pulls out his wallet-going to have to get a new one soon-and grabs just enough money to give a good tip and pay before tugging on Damian’s wrist. Damian pauses, hand straying towards the chips, but Jon only gives another gentle tug, and Damian lets him lead him out after paying.

The man follows.

Jon grits his teeth and hurries on, letting Damian climb onto his back for faster movement, and the guy is five feet behind-

Jon skids to a stop and sprints through an alley way, knowing that this is the best way to get to his house the fastest without having to stop, and _fuck fuck fuck,_ they’re still following them.

Jon takes a leap into the air and lands on top of his building, slamming down hard enough to dent the metal, and even then he doesn’t stop. He swings down into the large windows and shatters them, making sure to cover Damian as they fall to the floor and glass rains down from above. 

“Damian,” he says lowly, and Damian looks at him, eyes wide. “Go pack your things. We need to leave _now.”_

Thankfully, Damian does as he’s told, and Jon whirls around to grab food and money, just snatching anything he can see in this blind haze of panic, and he makes a mess of the kitchen and living room, but the only thing that matters is that they’ve found them already, they’re here, they’re going to take Damian again, _and that is something Jon will not let happen._

Just as he stuffs the freeze dried strawberries into his bookbag and zips it up, the bag filled to the brim, Damian appears in his doorway, face pale and grip tight on his own bag.

Jon spits a curse and rises to his feet, throwing the bag over his shoulder and holding Damian in a bridal carry as he flies out the window. 

“Little Monster? I saw Mother,” Damian says, voice small, and Jon soars above the clouds, heart pounding in his ears.

“Yeah?”

“Why would I lie about that,” Damian asks, honestly confused, and Jon barks a harsh laugh as they race to-to-

Somewhere. Jon doesn’t know where they’re going, all he knows that they’re getting away.

This blind, desperate panic is what he loathes, but he’s used to it, can use it to his advantage because of his many years in superhero fighting; this frantic recklessness has saved his life more than once, so he just...goes somewhere.

It’s not a big deal, but the farther they are away from Metropolis, the more time they have to plan where they’re going next. Damian hides his face in his chest against the wind, and Jon doesn’t stop, careful to keep high enough above the clouds so that they don’t leave a trail.

He doesn’t particularly want to think about what would’ve happen if they had stayed if they had stayed just a few minutes longer, had been a little less scared of the consequences, so he adjusts his grip around Damian and keeps on going. 

He...doesn’t stop for a while, takes dizzying trails and turns until he’s sure that nobody can track them easily, and then he stays in one direction.

Damian’s long since fallen asleep, from boredom or plain emotional exhaustion, Jon doesn’t know, but he lets him rest.

“I should have known staying in Metropolis would be too obvious,” Jon grumbles, and Damian shivers in the cold air.

Jon closes his eyes tiredly and starts to lower himself to the ground, knuckles white as he shifts Damian to his back and starts onto the sidewalk, feet falling heavy on the concrete.

“Still, two days. I thought we’d have more time,” he says, a frown on his face as he think. “Talia shouldn’t have gotten back until two days from now, and the people there weren’t gonna talk, cause they were scared about Talia finding out. How did they-”

Jon stops in his tracks, eyes narrowed. “That guy in the lab coat. He was head of the-the operation. Must’ve been afraid of Talia if she _didn’t_ find out sooner.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he squints around him.

It’s night, so not a lot of people are out, but _where_ are they?

A woman jogs past, headphone cords bouncing, and Jon grabs her elbow before she can pass. She stops, tilting her head as she takes out her headphones. “Yeah,” she pants, music blaring loud enough for Jon to hear, even without his super hearing. 

_Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop talking to me.._

“Where are we,” Jon asks quietly, gesturing to the person on his back and putting a finger to his lips.

She nods and takes a drink of water. “Columbus, Ohio,” she says back, and Jon sighs, patting Damian’s hair as he mumbles something and buries his face into Jon’s neck.

“Do you know where we can find a relatively cheap place to stay?” 

She smiles and points to where she came from. “I can help you get there. I needed to go home anyways.”

Jon gives her a relieved grin and turns to follow, careful to not wake Damian up.

Seeing your mom after being willingly kidnapped and having a panic attack that same day about her would wear out anyone, so Jon doesn’t particularly want to make him leave sleep behind just yet.

“Aaaaand here it is,” the lady says, and Jon blinks up at the building, already feeling the weight of the money in his pocket and bag.

“Thank you…” He trails off, and she laughs at him.

“My name is Faith. Nice to meet you.”

Jon gives a sheepish chuckle, holding out his hand. “I’m Jon, and this is Damian.”

Faith only shrugs and shakes. “Hi. I have to go know, have work in the morning and all, you know how it is.”

Jon nods and turns towards the door. “See you later, Faith,” he says over his shoulder, and Faith says the same and walks away.

Jon closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and walks up to the desk. “Can I get a room, please?”

The man behind the desk looks up and smiles without sincerity. “Certainly, how many beds,” He asks, and Jon furrows his brows.

He’d sleep better knowing that Damian was only a stretch away, and people can’t really take him if Jon’s there, so-

“One, please.”

A nod. “Here is your keys, just head over to the elevator and press the second button.”

“Thanks,” Jon says, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. The man smiles faintly.

“We have a free breakfast for all paying customers. It stops at eleven,” he offers, and Jon beams at him.

“Thanks for telling me. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

 

\--

 

They somehow make it to their room, Jon stumbling every few steps as his body tries to shut down for _rest._  

They make it, though, and Jon can barely open the door. His vision is blurring at the edges and his head is spinning. He feels like he’s flying and _definitely_ like he’s on Nyquil.

But he opens the door, and locks it behind him, gently dropping Damian onto the bed, and locking the windows and drawing the curtains shut, tossing their bags onto the floor and lying down next to his friend.

“Goddamn, what a busy day, huh,” He asks, reaching out to pull the blankets up to his shoulder and turn to lamp off. 

Damian doesn’t respond, still dead to the world, and Jon huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. Night.”

 

\--

 

Jon wakes up to Damian leaning over him, eyes wide with surprise. “Little Monster, where are we,” Damian asks, and Jon groans, rolling over until he’s laying on top of him and falling still.

“Little Monster,” Damian says again, and Jon cracks open one eye to stare down at him.

“What?”

“Where are we?”

Jon plops his chin on Damian’s head and closes his eye. “Columbus, Ohio.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just where we ended up after I panicked,” Jon says tiredly, and Damian squirms beneath him. 

“Little Monster, I need to be clean,” Damian tells him, anxious and a little panicked, and Jon moves off him immediately, remembering the attack yesterday.

“Go take a shower. They have free breakfast here, so we’ll eat once we’re both clean, okay?”

Damian nods and hurries into the bathroom, not even bothering to grab his clothes behind him, and Jon stares at the ceiling, eyelids heavy. “How is it that he can stab people and can’t stand to be dirty,” he asks no one as the water starts up.

He shrugs and slips off the bed, determined to stay awake no matter how little sleep he got last night.

 _Can’t leave Damian alone,_ he thinks as he scratches his face and scowls at the growing five o’clock shadow.

Oh _hell_ no.

This is the reason why he doesn’t like to go anywhere without his razor; he’s seen Dad go like two days without shaving, and it’s a nightmare.

Jon has, unfortunately, inherited that particular trait, so he heads to the mirror and powers up his eyes. He’s long since mastered this skill for when he doesn’t have his razor, so he carefully starts to get that scruff off his face, because he does not look good with it.

Damian’s humming.

Jon tilts his head and listens carefully.

“Is that Lose Control? When did he learn that song,” Jon wonders, and cuts away hair on his face.

He has a sneaking suspicion that this is horribly domestic and that Jason would be disappointed in him. 

It’s not a good feeling.

 

\--

 

Talia stares at the place where Jon Kent had rocketed above the clouds, and screams.

How _dare_ he take her son? How _dare_ he?

She turns on her heel and puts a blistering gaze onto the family picture by the table.

She swipes it to the floor and crushes it beneath her foot. 

“Send out word into the Underworld. Jonathan Samuel Kent has made an enemy of the al Ghuls. Twelve million dollars for his head,” Talia orders as she walks out of the apartment. 

“Dead or alive?”

Talia stops and looks over her shoulder, painted lips curled into a snarl worthy of her name as a demon. “Dead.”

She leaves, and the only thing left behind her is the echo of her fury and the destroyed example of family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talia is pissed, Jon and Damian are becoming domestic, and soon the Justice League, and more specifically the Batfam will be getting interested.
> 
> *rubs hands together* The plot is thickening.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi, Little Monster,” Damian says cheerfully, and Jon throws himself into the chair across from him, resting his chin on his arms and glaring sleepily, because he may be tired, but Damian made him concerned!
> 
> Damian only laughs and pats his head. “Are you weary, dear traveller,” he asks, and goddamn if Jon isn’t, so he only buries his face in his arms and nods. “Food will help,” Damian says with the ageless wisdom of someone who believes the little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week and yesterday. =_= I updated cosmos last week and didn't finish this chapter until today.
> 
> BUT hope you like it!

“Damian,” Jon calls as he tugs his shirt over his head and pulls on his socks, “you hungry?”

No answer.

Jon looks up and narrows his eyes, worry spiking in his chest, because Damian usually answers him, or at least makes a noise to tell him that he’s fine, but there was nothing. And that...that was worrying.

He opens the door and pokes his head out, and Damian is still not here.

Jon’s mouth flattens in a stiff line and listens for his companion’s heartbeat, which _better_ be in this building, otherwise Jon would be forced to uproot Columbus to search for him, and that would only draw attention that they _really, really_ don’t need, not after they barely escaped Talia the day before.

 _Thump-thump-thu-thump,_ goes Damian’s heart, and Jon sags against the door frame, breathing a sigh of relief, and goes to the bed to put on his shoes and at least comb his hair, which is something that Damian chose to forgo.

Jon rolls his eyes fondly at the brand new red converse dangling from Damian’s bag, and grabs the pair he was wearing yesterday before walking out the door, making sure to lock the door behind because, wow, wouldn’t it be bad if someone stole all their money?

Jon wasn’t taking any chances, not when that was their best bet of staying ahead of the League; plain cash is something that’s difficult to track, at least to Jon’s knowledge, and Damian will not go back to the League, and more specifically Talia, again.

He takes the elevator, and runs a hand through his hair as he slumps against the wall, still keeping an ear out for Damian, and everything is calm.

Incredibly calm, and Jon closes his eyes in exhaustion. _Fuck,_ he is tired. He didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night, and flying extremely fast while doing sharp turns and such is just…

It’s just.

God, he’s so tired he doesn’t even know the word he needs. _That’s_ how tired he is.

The doors ding, and Jon opens his eyes as two other people walk in, a little girl and what he assumed to be her father, and the girl presses the same button he did, and they start to talk. About meaningless things, about what they wanted to do for the day, and Jon simply listens. It didn’t take long for them to reach the bottom floor, and Damian’s heartbeat is a drum in his ears, but he’s still, still nodding off.

He wants to sleep so badly.

Damian’s already at a table when he reaches the kitchen area, and he waves enthusiastically when Jon stops in front of him.

“Hi, Little Monster,” Damian says cheerfully, and Jon throws himself into the chair across from him, resting his chin on his arms and glaring sleepily, because he may be tired, but Damian made him concerned!

Damian only laughs and pats his head. “Are you weary, dear traveller,” he asks, and goddamn if Jon isn’t, so he only buries his face in his arms and nods. “Food will help,” Damian says with the ageless wisdom of someone who believes the little things.

Jon smiles a bit at the words and gives a huff when Damian ruffles his hair, as though he’s a kid he needs to take care of, and that actually feels nice.

“Go eat,” Damian tells him, and Jon stumbles to his feet, getting in line and grabbing any food that look familiar, and _hello waffle maker and strawberries._

Jon wakes up at that, happily making three strawberry waffles in a row, and snatching a chocolate muffin before sitting back down in front of Damian, more happy than he had been.

“Food heals the soul,” he tells his companion, and Damian nods as if that’s the truth of existence, and he goes back to-

Are those _also_ strawberry waffles?

“They are waffles,” Damian says, and Jon starts as he realizes that he said that out loud. “You did say that out loud,” he continues, amusement in his face, and Jon slaps his cheek.

“I must be worn out, huh?”

“Indeed,” Damian agrees, and sticks a spoon of yogurt in his mouth, and that, Jon decides, is that.

 

\--

 

When they do head back up to their room, Jon is dead on his feet, so he falls onto the bed on his face and refuses to move even as Damian flutters around him, tugging at his arms and telling him to _get up already, Little Monster, the sun isn’t even that far into the sky, the shadows are not right below us, get up!_

Jon grabs Damian’s wrist and pulls him onto the bed with him, wrapping him with a arm around his shoulders and promptly shushing him. “Sleep now,” he says, and Damian wriggles around in exasperation, “explore later.”

“Little Monster, get up, get up,” Damian insists and tries to sit up, full of energy that Jon is lacking at the moment, and Jon puts a hand on his head and slowly pushes him back down until he's back on the pillow.

 _“Sleep,”_ Jon says again, and closes his eyes, because sleep sounds heavenly right now, so if Damian would just work with him-

“Get up!”

Jon’s patience snaps like a twig.

“Goddamnit Damian, shut up,” he shouts, and he knows that he’s being mean, but he’s so tired he _literally cannot think straight._ “I get it, you want to leave, you want to explore, but I’m _exhausted._ I can’t do anything on this little sleep! So just-”

Jon cuts himself off as Damian starts to cry, and _fucking shit,_ he is just the worst person ever to fucking person.

“Damian,” he starts, and Damian shakes his head, frame shaking, and that will not stand, so he reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

Damian struggles, and his tears are making his shirt wet, but Jon doesn't care. He just made Damian _cry._ That's unacceptable, and he needs to make it right.

“I'm sorry I yelled,” he says quietly, and Damian pushes at his chest, still gasping little breaths, and _why_ does he do this with everyone he loves?

It's just…

“I'm not angry at you,” he says helplessly, and nothing will help him, not with the way he blew up, and so he kisses Damian's hair and rocks him back and forth as he sobs out apologises.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Jon tells him gently, and it's the truth given straight from the heavens. “It's my fault.”

“But I. I kept on ordering you to get up-”

“But nothing,” Jon interrupts, and pulls back, cradling Damian's face in his hands as he presses his lips to his forehead. “You did nothing wrong, okay? I'm the one who screamed at you."

Damian clutches his wrist, eyes lost, and if Jon was anyone else, his bones would be aching in protest, because Damian's never had to learn control with civilians.

But he is himself, no matter how much he wants to be someone else, so he gives a smile and stays like that.

And… it's nice.

Not bad, though his emotions are cutting him up inside, a constant barrage of _you fucked up, you fucked up_ banging away at his mind, and not great either.

It's just… Nice.

 

\--

 

 _Something's up,_ Jon thinks, and grabs Damian's hand as they leave the inn. _Something is up, and it is not good._

Damian looks around, eyes red and puffed up, and guilt flares, red hot and searing, and Jon gives a quick squeeze in an apology for something he's already been forgiven for.

“Hey, Damian,” he asks, and Damian looks over at him, booking curiously, and Jon grimaces. “Have you ever, y'know, been to school?”

Damian tilts his head, considering, and Jon's heart rate is beating fast. “Do you mean tutors?”

Jon nods and sags in solace, and thank God he did, but-

“Have you ever been to an actual school? Like public school?”

Damian shakes his head, and a grin tugs at Jon's lips. “We'll have to fix that,” he says, and gives a trickle of focus to his hearing, and _there._ “You want to see one?”

Green eyes light up, and Damian pulls at the grip Jon has on his hand. “I do! I do very much, Little Monster, I read that schools are safe havens and…”

Jon laughs and turns to opposite direction as Damian rambles on about the wind telling him _exactly_ what happens in a classroom and-and-and-

We're here,” Jon says, and Damian goes silent as he stares at the building in front of them, buses parked out front and students pouring in.

He takes a step forward, and Jon outright smiles. “You wanna go explore,” he asks softly, and when Damian nods, he walks ahead, Damian trailing behind him, and they blend into the crowd as easy as they breathe.

They might not have bags like the rest of them, but Jon knows how to appear inconspicuous in high school, and that won't change now.

Damian, though, Damian swings his head around, drinking in every detail he can, and it's obvious that he's new, so people stare, but Jon only grins, waves, and smiles apologetically, and then they don't.

It's simple, really. Jon's had to keep his head down for years, nervousness making his heart pound in his ears as he worries that somebody will be able to recognize him. It's practically second nature by now.

They walk through the doors and go to stand by the lockers as though they're waiting for someone, and that's that. They're inside a high school.

Damian's practically squirming with excitement, and it's so much like a kid that Jon ruffles his hair, which earns him a glare with puffed out cheeks.

“You look like an angry chipmunk,” Jon laughs, and Damian glares harder, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Damian's super tiny. It's hilarious. It makes him want to pinch his cheeks and see what happens.

“Little Monster, stop it,” Damian shouts as Jon does just that, and _shit,_ they're getting attention again.

“Shush,” Jon murmurs, and turns towards the locker behind him, spinning the lock at random and acting as though he's having trouble opening it.

Interest: gone.

“Ya gotta be quiet,” Jon hisses out of the corner of his mouth as he somehow lands the right combination and opens the door and grabs a book from the top shelf, remembering the numbers so he may return it later.

“Why?”

“Because I'm officially listed as missing and you might be taken as my kidnapper when it's the other way around.”

Damian blinks. “You did not kidnap me.”

Jon sighs and slams the obnoxious red door closed. “Yeah, I did, Damian. That's why your mom is mad at me.”

“No, you didn't,” Damian corrects, and Jon looks at him in question. “I had Kryptonite near me, and I am still trained. I could have incapacitated you briefly, and used the Kryptonite to keep you down. I am not helpless. I _let_ you take me.”

Jon stares as Damian smiles. “There is a difference, Little Monster, and I should know from the Before.”

Yeah, those were capital letters there.

“Before?” Jon asks cautiously, and Damian nods happily.

“Yes, the Before. Before my eleventh birthday. This is the _Now.”_

 _So,_ Jon thinks, _whatever happened to him happened on his eleventh birthday. Wait, how old is he-_

“How old are you?”

Damian beams and holds up nine fingers. “Nineteen,” he chirps, and Jon feels sick.

“What happened?”

Damian starts, and turns pale, and fury is a roar in Jon's ears, because something terrible must have happened and-

“I...I do not wish to speak of it. The truth king is fine with me keeping the secret. Please do not press,” Damian answers, voice stilted and almost robotic, and Jon _can't_ anymore.

He drops the book on the floor with a bang that echoes in the hallway, and _that_ draws attention, but Jon doesn't care, can't care, not when Damian holds on just as desperately, and Jon snarls at anyone who glances their way.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked,” Jon mumbles, and Damian shakes his head.

“It is not your fault,” he says, and Jon bites his lip, because it _is_ for bringing it up.

“I'm fine. Can we go see look at those classes now?”

“Yes.”

 

\--

 

In the Batcave, as Bruce looks over evidence to see where Jon is, his computer dings.

He looks up, eyes narrowed, because that sound only comes when Talia has set a new price on someone's head.

He drops the photo at the name on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* Jon you better be ready to have everyone on your heels! (+_+)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nice, to be this open with someone. At home, his openness was scorned, and no matter how much he spoke of the demons and ghosts lurking the walls, nobody listened. They only shoved bone white pills down his throat and gave him the special water.
> 
> Every time he drank, his insides burned and he screamed, because it was agony, and the sand below his feet shrieked at him, saying that it wasn't meant to be drunk, it will only make the divide between the unseen and him weaker and weaker, and yet he drank it anyways. Grandfather watched with eyes that belong to another century, hand tight on his sword, and Damian's always wondered how he could stand the fire on his skin caused by the water that laughs at pain, that tears souls apart with glee that's horrifying in it's fanatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddup.
> 
> I keep on posting these chapters later and later, sorry! >_<
> 
> I've been working on this instead of a project, hahaaaaa I'm so stupid, but I couldn't focus cause of the way my brain was spitting this out.

This is quite possibly the most perplexing Damian has ever been through. The hallways are loud, there are so many people near his age, and they aren’t being punished for being this unorganized!

Little Monster grips his hand tight and moves with the crowd, steps sure no matter where he goes, and Damian has to wonder how he stands the noise, because right now Damian is tempted to go to a corner and put his hands over his ears to block out the sounds. Home has never been this turbulent, never been this boisterous, and it’s so overwhelming that Damian’s starting to breathe a little quicker.

“Little Monster,” Damian whispers, voice small, and Little Monster looks down at him with a small frown, gently tugging him into a empty room and setting him down on top of the desk.

“What’s the matter,” Little Monster asks, and he’s confused, he’s concerned, and Damian feels  _ terrible  _ for making him come here, for convincing him to take Damian here to give him this experience, and Damian just-

Damian just-

He just _can’t deal with this,_ why can’t he deal with this, why is he so _weak, why why why why why_ ** _why why why why-_**

“Damian.”

Damian opens his eyes, hands flying towards his waist for his knife, but he doesn’t have it, why doesn’t he have it, the first thing Mother drilled into his head is that he should never be unarmed-

“Damian, you’re fine.”

That’s-

That’s Little Monster.

Damian blinks, and instead of seeing Mother glaring down at him, hands on her hips and eyes as bright as a fire, teeth flashing like lightning as she snarls at him, it’s Little Monster crouching in front of him, hands hovering over his like he’s uncertain, and Damian sniffs, rubbing at his eyes with the inside of his wrist. “Hi,” he says, and Little Monster gives a shaky smile.

“Hey,” he responds, hands settling on Damian’s knees. “You aren’t weak, y’know?”

Damian scoffs, a trembling laugh escaping in his lips as he ruffles Little Monster’s hair. “No, I am. Let’s just go see those classes, okay?”

Little Monster frowns, pulling himself onto a desk and leaning in close. “First period can wait. Everyone’s half asleep in first period unless it’s something interesting, and I can say that as a fact after at least five years with that schedule.”

Damian rolls his eyes and swings his feet, heels barely scraping the ground, and his cheeks hurt from the drying tears, but nobody ever really helped him during an attack before Little Monster, so he’s.

He’s fine, honestly.

“We’re going to stay here, and calm down, and if you want to, you can tell me why you freaked out,” Little Monster says, and slips off the desk to wander off, pulling books off the single bookshelf in the corner, and Damian smiles.

This is why he went with Little Monster; the way that he cares and doesn’t want people to get hurt. It’s such a vast difference from his home that Damian just wanted to stay with him, just for a bit longer, no matter how much it would anger Mother.

Damian’s never been one to think of the consequences, never been one to think beyond of what feels right, and that’s his failing, but that single decision, that one thought? That is the best thing he’s ever done, because now he’s  _ free. _

He hums and swings his feet, leans back a little, and Little Monster has abandoned the books to go the two computers at the back of the room and is typing away, little clacks echoing in the silent room, and the clock right behind his head ticks.

It’s peaceful.

Twenty minutes pass before Little Monster finally speaks again, and by then Damian’s managed to calm his heart rate, so he doesn't jolt out of fear when he hears his name.

“Damian,” Little Monster says, and Damian grins at him, panic forgotten ten minutes ago, but he's still tired.

“You wanna take a nap?”

Damian blinks, because since when did Little Monster read minds?

Little Monster laughs and takes his wrist, wrapping fingers that could shatter Damian's bones with a single moment of forgetfulness, and tells him, “I can't, but I know how people look when they need a nap. God knows Tim needs them.”

Damian tilts his head as Little Monster drags him to a pile of cushions and a single blanket in the corner, and he has to ask. “Who's Tim?”

Little Monster blinks as they sit down on the floor. “Red Robin,” he says , as though it's obvious, and  _ oh,  _ now Damian remembers the name; it's Father's last Robin before Robin got shut down.

“Tim Drake,” Damian says aloud, testing the syllabus on his tongue and making a 'keh’ sound at the end. “CEO of Wayne Industries, an exceptional fighter with genius levels of IQ that's predisposed to investigating. Grandfather finds him intriguing despite the little regard he has for his health.”

It comes out of his mouth like it's route, because it is. Mother made him memorize information about enemies and allies when he was nine and has since kept him updated. It's irritating, but he's long since gotten used to it.

Oh. Little Monster’s staring. Damian makes his attention come back to the present, and leans forward to nuzzle their noses together to break the silence.

Sure enough, Little Monster chuckles and pushes Damian away with a face in his face, and Damian's inordinately pleased with himself at that as he relaxes.

It's nice, to be this open with someone. At home, his openness was scorned, and no matter how much he spoke of the demons and ghosts lurking the walls, nobody listened. They only shoved bone white pills down his throat and gave him the special water.

Every time he drank, his insides burned and he screamed, because it was  _ agony,  _ and the sand below his feet shrieked at him, saying that it wasn't meant to be drunk, it will only make the divide between the unseen and him weaker and weaker, and yet he drank it anyways. Grandfather watched with eyes that belong to another century, hand tight on his sword, and Damian's always wondered how he could stand the fire on his skin caused by the water that laughs at pain, that tears souls apart with glee that's horrifying in it's fanatically.

He thinks that he never did.

He thinks that his Grandfather's been dead for a long time, and now only the water is left in his mind, cackling at the destruction it manages, and that-

That's terrifying, because the water is never meant to be distributed: it's unnatural, it scares the wind, it gives the stones around it a sinister taste, and it scares Damian.

And it's inside him.

He shudders, and Little Monster pulls him close, lets him bury his face in his chest and rubs his back and, oh, what the water would do to his friend, what visions it would show him, what anger it would give him.

“Never go near the water,” Damian says, and it's not a request or even a demand; it's a order, one born from fear that overwhelms him sometimes, because the water pulses under him with every step he takes, a curse on his blood set by his Grandfather thousands of years ago, when the man was young and foolish, filled with false grandeur.

Little Monster presses his lips to Damian's hair, and says, “I promise. Can you tell me when I get near one?”

“You will know,” Damn assures him, ants crawling over his skin. “The wind will die, life will be no more, and every bad thought will come forth. The water is a poison. It kills.”

There's a pause, and the water chugs in his mind, a never ending one two three.

“Well,” Little Monster says, “that's what poisons tend to do.”

Damian huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around his companion's waist as he revels in the safety he feels just from the heartbeat in Little Monster's chest. “Exactly,” he says drowsily, and closes his eyes, cheek smushed against Little Monster's shoulder, and Little Monster runs a hand through his hair and hums.

Damian gazes at the books in a pile only five feet away, and falls asleep.

 

\--

 

_ Something is wrong,  _ Barry decides as soon as he walks into the Watchtower.  _ Something's very wrong. _

Not that things haven't been happy around here since Jon got taken, but now there's something more to the atmosphere, something that makes his skin crawl. He shifts his feeting so that if he needs to burst into a run, he can, and heads to the meeting room.

He's early, for once, but Hal’s there, so Barry go over to him, feet padding softly on the metal floor. “Hey,” he says, and Hal drags his head up from his arms. “Long night?”

Hal grins and waves him down, sighing heavily. “You have no idea, Bear. No idea,” he says, and Barry pats his back sympathetically, because, yeah, he gets it.

“I just want to know why Bats called the meeting,” Barry groans, and flings himself into a chair next to his best friend, pulling the cowl off and rubbing at his forehead, sparks running up his arm and out of his eyes.

“Hell if I know, but Clark's been really upset since Jon, so maybe he found a lead,” Hal wonders, and throws a smile. “God knows that a Super in anyone's hands is a huge advantage, especially one that's still growing.”

Barry laughs and rolls his eyes. “Supers are powerhouses. And Clark refuses to fight his kids, so if Jon attacks, we're in trouble.”

Hal smirks and opens his mouth to answer, but Diana marches in before he can.

“Why did Bruce call a meeting,” she asks, hair smoking slightly and lasso still in her hands, the glow casting harsh shadows on her face.

Barry waves. “Hey Diana.”

“Hello, Barry,” she replies, and sits down in a chair, letting out a huff. “Today has been exhausting.”

Hal groans from where he's slammed his head back down on the table and raises a hand. “I hear you,” he says, and then flops it down.

Clark walks in, then, shoulders hunched and looking uncomfortable in his uniform, and he slinks to his chair.

Nobody says anything until he’s settled in, dark circles under his eyes as he tugs at the curl hanging down on his forehead.

“So,” Barry starts, because he is nothing but never moving, and the silence is starting to wear at him, “I’m guessing that Bats isn’t here yet?”

Clark shakes his head slowly, and Barry stretches, back popping as he narrows his eyes. “What could he be doing?”

 

\--

 

This is a bad idea, Bruce knows. Talia is a wild card, especially in the last eight year when she suddenly started going against her father, subverting his orders for some agenda, and no one has been able to figure out why, no matter who they are.

“Bruce, you sure this is a good idea,” Dick murmurs softly at his side, fingers brushing his cape, and Bruce closes his eyes, a headache beginning to pound.

“It’s not,” he admits, and Dick cuts him a glance.

“Then why are we going this? We could easily find out why she put a price on Jon’s head another way.”

Bruce wishes, not for the first time, that his cowl is like Wally’s, just so that he can run a hand through his hair, but that would ruin the effect of it. So he settles for no answer and watches the shadows for movement.

Dick blows out his cheeks in frustration and rolls back on his heels, keeping an eye out for minions.

“You can't not talk forever, you know,” Dick tells him, and Bruce steadfast keeps his silence, because he is nothing but stubborn and passive aggressive when he wants to be.

Dick closes his eyes and grumbles about stubborn father's, and that's when Talia shows up.

Bruce sends Dick a look, which his son ignores.

Brat.

“Beloved,” Talia says softly, lips red as blood and face pale with fury.

Bruce takes a step forward, ready for a fight because she's dressed in her outfit that she only wears when she's hunting someone down _ herself, _ damn anyone who gets in her way.

“Why did you put money on Jon Kent's head,” he asks evenly, and she gives him a grin that's more of a baring of teeth.

“He _ took _ something of mine and escaped,” she hisses, green eyes alight, and behind him Dick shifts in place, hands darting towards his escrima sticks.

Bruce waves a hand at him, keeping his eyes on Talia. “What did he take?”

Talia laughs, and Bruce's hand curls into a fist as she marches towards him, the sound of her heels clicking the countdown to death. “He took my _ son,”  _ she snarls in his face, and the anger suddenly makes sense. It's not the displeasure of an al Ghul being stolen from, it's the rage of a mother wanting her child back no matter the cost.

The love of a mother is a dangerous thing, Bruce has learned, and Talia has the power and influence to do whatever it takes to get her son back.

“I can't let you kill Jon,” he says instead, and Talia looks ready to tear his throat out.

_ “Watch me,”  _ she growls, and turns, melting into the shadows as easily as she emerged.

“Well,” Dick says brightly, “looks like Superboy's a kidnapper!”

Bruce resists the urge to facepalm, because that's what he wants.

“And we found out why she's been acting the way she has,” Bruce says, and Dick grins.

“A eight year old in the League of Assassins? When Ra's almost killed Talia to get her body so that he can live a bit longer? I'd imagine that she wants to protect her kid.”

“And Jon just threw a wrench in her plans by taking him.”

Dick whistles, low and impressed as he pulls out his grappling gun. “Man, Jon really won the prize for stupid decisions this year, huh?”

“Yes,” Bruce sighs, and swings down to the Batmobile as Dick goes above him. “Supers do seem to like making our lives difficult.”

“Yep!”

 

\--

 

Hal shrugs. “Gotham stuff, most likely.”

Barry shakes his head. “Probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BARRY YOU HAVE NO IDEA!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon doesn't sleep.
> 
> He can't.
> 
> Damian's head is in his lap, little breaths puffing from his nose with every exhale, and Jon can't sleep with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow time flies. sorry i havent updated this in forever...ha...ha

Jon doesn't sleep.

He can't.

Damian's head is in his lap, little breaths puffing from his nose with every exhale, and Jon can't sleep with him. How can he, when Damian had a meltdown and Talia is after them?

He doesn't think that she's found them yet, doesn't think that she's caught on their trail, but, then again, she's an al Ghul. The entire underworld plays in her palm, the most dangerous people in her pocket, and if she's been planning to overthrow Ra's like Jon had come to suspect when he was held captive, she has _ connections,  _ more than anyone knows of.

She's _ deadly.  _ And she's pissed at Jon for taking her son; there's no way she hasn't put a price on his head, no way that everyone, from the lowest of grunts to the highest of blood-stained bastards, is looking for him.

He can't sleep.

And that's absolutely  _ fine. _

Damian grunts and Jon looks down at him, a smile flickering on his face at the way that his... kidnappee burrows his face into Jon's stomach. “Are you my kidnappee, though,” he says quietly.

Damian doesn't answer, and Jon sighs, running a hand through his friend's hair as he glances at the time.

There's at least another forty-five minutes left in the first period, if the schedule taped to the wall is right, and that just leaves Jon to his thoughts.

He grimaces at the idea. His thoughts are one thing he'd like to avoid as long as possible, but he doesn't exactly have anything to entertain him. It's either let his guard down and sleep, or think.

Jon decides that he's safe in a school - who the fuck would attack a school in broad daylight when there's cops stationed around it - and shifts until he's laying down too, curls around Damian the best he can, and closes his eyes.

The bell will wake him up, Jon is sure, and if it doesn't then the sudden noise in the hallways will, so he tries to get some more sleep.

Try being the key word here, because he _ can't go the fuck to sleep. _

Jon squints at the clock and glares when only five minutes have passed.

Thoughts it is, then.

“Goddamnit,” he says, and refuses to entertain his mind.

It works, luckily, and Damian helps in that respect. He tucks his head under Jon's chin and wraps his arms around him, and it's just. It's just really nice.

It doesn't work for long, and soon his mind is wandering, wondering about random things, and Jon tiredly doesn't redirect them.

He doesn't know if Dick's okay. He got knocked out, and Jon could smell blood before he passed out from the Kryptonite and hit to the head, and he doesn't know if he pressed the emergency button hidden in his escrima sticks, because Jon sure as hell didn't press his, so he doesn't know if Dick was able to get medical attention.

Jon frowns. But that would've been all over the news, wouldn't it? A hero, _especially_ one as well known as Dick, being found with a lot of injuries would be dominating the headlines for at least a few days, and Jon went through most of them from the Planet from the time he was taken to the day he checked it out. No whispers about Nightwing, no rumors about his possibly not-continued survival.

Nothing.

Which means that another hero must have gotten to him first.

Jon smiles at that, sharp and full of relief, and Damian hisses between his teeth, nearly vibrating with sudden tension. Jon hums at him softly, patting his chest in a steady rhythm that's tried and true method with keeping Damian calm when his sleep is starting to get restless, and Damian mumbles something that sounds like _ Mother _ before falling still.

Ah, dammit. That brings something else to mind.

How is he going to get Damian help?

His companion desperately needs help, no matter how much Jon likes him the way he is now. Even if it's just for the anxiety he has, he needs help. And Jon doesn't know how to give it to him, not without giving away where they are to everyone who's after them.

Jon sighs and looks up at the ceiling, gently blowing frost onto his fingers and watching them sparkle.

“Maybe I can look things up and go from there,” he murmurs, and melts the cold with a little heat. His fingers ache from the sudden change in temperature, but that's something Jon's used to. He folds his arms behind his head and stares up, wishing he remembered to grab his headphones before leaving. Music too loud to allow any thinking would be  _ awesome _ right now.

It wouldn’t be odd for someone to look something up in a library, right? Especially in a school library, where basically anyone can walk in with permission from a teacher. Jon grins. That’s his plan.

The library should be open right now, actually. If he remembers correctly - and he has a feeling he does - then the sign said that the library is open from eight thirty to three thirty, which is when school ends. So he has the whole day to do something within that time frame.

Damian blinks his eyes open, disgruntled. “I woke up,” he says grumpily. “Why?”

Jon laughs. “I dunno.” He pets his head, humming lightly under his breath. “Maybe you heard my troubled thoughts and came to rescue me.”

Damian squints at him. “Little Monster,” he begins, “I cannot sense thoughts.”

Jon rolls his eyes, stands. “I know,” he huffs, gently pulling Damian to his feet. “But do you feel better after that little nap?”

Damian pauses, thinks it over openly. Jon catches himself thinking that he’s like a overexcited puppy without a bit of balance, tripping over his own feet. Damian is like that, yes, but he’s more of a deadly predator type of puppy.  _ Not _ a Golden Retriever. He is a very deadly, very naive person, and Jon -

Well. Jon is attached so much.

“I do,” Damian eventually decides, and Jon smiles, wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Little Monster, did you take a nap?”

“Nope,” Jon says, popping the p. “I was too busy thinking.”

Damian pokes his forehead. He has to stand on his toes to do it. “You think too much,” he scolds. “Stop it. Otherwise the thought train will sweep you away and you’ll be strapped to a bed.”

Jon is getting pretty fluent in Damian-ese. “The train of thought?” he guesses, and Damian looks pleased that he understood him. “Damian, that’s just an expression.”

“No, no!” Damian insists passionately. “No, it will steal your mind away and make you a mess!”

Jon is not getting fluent in Damian-ese, and by the face Damian is making, he knows it too as he dives into another explanation.

The bell rings before he finishes.

 

\--

 

They sit in on Biology next period. Most of the students are sleepy eyed, yawning at the Bozeman video playing on the screen. Damian, wide awake and chipper, is sitting behind the science table, head tilted back to watch it. Jon wrinkles his nose at the screen - he hates Bozeman videos. Nothing against the man, it’s just that his videos are boring. Damian, though - Damian is muttering things along with him, brow furrowed in thought.

“You enjoying this?” Jon asks curiously. Damian doesn’t seem like the type of person to know this sort of stuff, but then again Jon didn’t know the Damian before he stopped having those birthday challenges. Maybe he learned it - it does seem like the type of thing a heir to the League of Assassins would learn.

“Yes,” Damian agrees without hesitation. “The way he explains it is very mind numbing, but the fundamentals are there.”

Jon snorts quietly, pulling a leg to his chest and resting his chin on it. “Yeah, Bozeman always bored me to death when I was taking Biology. I barely remember any of it.”

“Why?” Damian gives him a frown, cloudy eyes narrowing. “Biology is an important part of your education.”

“Listen, nobody remembers much of anything from biology,” Jon says defensively. “William barely remembers anything, and he was the one with the best grades in the whole class.”

Damian scoffs. “No reason not to,” he mutters, sounding oddly like his mother. “A man should know all things about all things. This is the only way he can become a true leader.”

That sounds practiced. “A phrase you learned again?” Jon says mildly, and Damian nods, gaze and attention straying back to the man on the screen.

“Grandfather used to say it,” he agrees absently. For once, his voice doesn’t catch on the words.

Jon bites back the frown that threatens to arise at the mention of Ra’s. That man deserves every inch of hell.

 

\---

 

Ra’s is old but he isn’t stupid. He isn’t blind, either. He knows that his daughter has hidden his grandson away, somewhere he doesn’t know, and it  _ infuriates him. _

He has plans for his grandson. He has data to gather, Lazarus water to force upon him. He has things to do. He does not have time to deal with this...temper tantrum of her’s. His body is rapidly running out of time, only sustained by magic and Pit water, and he  _ needs  _ a replacement. He will only get that if Talia sucks it up already and has another child.

He could, hypothetically, take over another body, but it wouldn’t be a right fit. The body would begin to reject him over the period of at least ten years - which to him is nothing - only this time he wouldn’t have a place to go.

So Talia needs to go seduce the Bat again, preferably within the next month. She could have Damian, just _ get him another body. _

Well. No. She can’t have Damian, the boy is too much a prodigy in assassination. But if she would just -

“Sire, Talia is here,” says a servant, and Ra’s waves him away.

“My daughter can wait,” he snaps, and the servant flinches but does so nonetheless.

Ra’s stands. He needs to think.

 

\--

 

Lord Ra’s’ body is getting worse, the guard notices. Blood is on his lips, his fingernails cracking as he worries the fabric around his wrists. He’s thinner than he’s ever been, his eyes bulging from his skill.

The guard licks his lips, avoids his eyes. It is a huge honor, he knows, to see Lord Ra’s like this. Nobody but a select few know how his skin is turning gray, how his knee pops with every step taken. Nobody knows how he convulses in his bed when he must take a rest, how he gasps for air.

Nobody sees the way he suffers, how their scientists are trying desperately to find a way to keep him alive. Lord Ra’s is their life, their whole reason for living, and the guard feels the same as they do. Lord Ra’s reached out his hand when no one else did and he only asks that they do as they are told.

The guard has never told anyone this, but he thinks that Lady Talia doesn’t appreciate her father enough. He’s heard of her schemes, of her plans. They’re all against Lord Ra’s, and the guard doesn’t like it. But Lord Ra’s must know of them - it is whispered enough in the halls.

He shifts on his feet, standing straighter. His hand tightens on his sword. Lord Ra’s turns another step, stumbling but never calling out for help. He rasps out half finished words, his eyes dark in thought, and the guard’s heart skips a beat when his eyes glaze over him.

He noticed me, he thinks, amazed, and Lord Ra’s gives him a tight nod before turns on his heel, pacing, pacing

“I need a new body,” Lord Ra’s mumbles, his face pale. “And soon.” 

The guard almost steps up and offers his own. Anything to help his lord.

Then Ra’s eyes sharpen, and the guard takes a moment to marvel in it before his stare settles on him again.

“You are in the best condition you can be, yes?” he asks, velvet and smooth, and the guard nods. He knows where this is going - and he does not mind it. “Would you care if I take your body?”

The guard has heard of what happens to those who Lord Ra’s takes. He knows that he will die, but -

Anything for Lord Ra’s.

He sinks to his knees, head low. “I humbly offer my body,” he murmurs, and he can feel his lord’s grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always loved and brighten up my day and are saved in my Gmail.
> 
> Also! Here's my [Tumblr.](http://nikescaret.tumblr.com) Come visit and chat with me if you want!


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